


To The Sound Of Your Pancake Remix

by wajjs



Series: Across The Universe (vld fics) [26]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, shance wedding zine, so much fluff my teeth hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 04:16:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20109001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: It’s a strong hope, the one he has then, hope that these feelings never leave him when it comes to his partner.





	To The Sound Of Your Pancake Remix

**Author's Note:**

> This was written back in 2018 for the Shance Wedding Zine! We finally have the go ahead to post our pieces, so that's what I'm doing now :-D
> 
> The story is actually quite far from what I usually do, since fluff is neither my forte nor my cup of tea, but it was still an interesting experience. My style is not the same as the one reflected in this piece, too, so rereading this was like reading someone else's work LOL

**To The Sound Of Your Pancake Remix**

Mornings usually have a clear routine for him: he wakes up early, earlier than his partner, and gets up to moisturize his face or wash off the beauty mask he wears from time to time. Then he’d either kiss his beloved awake, or let him sleep in till late, knowing the other always needed more rest.

This morning, though, this one’s different. He wakes up later than normal, only rousing from slumber when sunshine filtering through the haphazardly closed curtains hits him in the eyes.  Lance yawns then, noticing the sweet scent of pancakes wafting from the kitchen thanks to the open door, and barely manages to open one eye to peek at the numbers of the alarm clock on his bedside table. It's not terribly late, but it isn't early either.

The feeling of laziness grows stronger then, and his mouth curls into a comfortable smile while he rolls onto his side, missing the warmth of his partner as his toes come into contact with the cold and empty other half of the bed. Still, he doesn’t want to get up just yet. In a moment, yes, but right now? _No, thank you. _

Reaching out and grabbing his partner's pillow, he brings it closer to his chest, burying his face in it to breathe in whatever lingering scent remains. A bubbly chuckle rouses in his chest, and he feels like a teenager all over again, one who’s experiencing his first love, ready to take on the whole world. It’s a strong hope, the one he has then, hope that these feelings never leave him when it comes to his partner.****

As he thinks that, he lifts a hand to focus on the golden band comfortably hugging his ring finger. Time went by since the night of their engagement, and Lance still gets butterflies whenever he looks at what is his most precious treasure. He remembers perfectly how it happened (of course he does, it’s impossible for him to forget), from where they were to the clothes they were wearing and—

There’s a clattering noise coming from the kitchen, disrupting Lance’s thoughts and bringing him back to the present. The once sweet scent now has a distinct smell of burnt oil and—well, ok, Lance guesses now is as much of a great time to actually get up as any other. Besides, it seems like he’s needed in the kitchen judging by his partner’s choice of curse words.

Sitting up slowly, he’s already missing his warm blankets as he pushes them off with a slight pout. He doesn’t hurry while putting on his old pair of fluffy blue slippers, not bothering with pants as he stands up even though he gets goosebumps over the exposed skin of his legs.

Scratching the small of his back, he can’t stifle a yawn while he makes his way to the door. He notices then Shiro’s old hoodie amongst a heap of clothes on the floor, the one he was wearing the previous night before going to bed. Lance grins as he picks it up to then put on, feeling snuggly and cozy almost immediately after.

Dressed like this, he makes a quick stop in the bathroom before venturing into the kitchen, mentally preparing himself for whatever disaster awaits there.

Instead, he’s greeted by the sunniest, most adoring smile he could ever imagine to see. Shiro’s there, clad in an old tank top and a pair of sweatpants covered in flour, spatula dripping with pancake mix held like a trophy in his hand, his prosthetic closed around the handle of a pan. Next to him on the counter, noticeable even amongst the heaps of flour and sugar, there’s a plate with a decent number of pancakes. 

From where he’s standing, it’s hard to determine if they are burnt (they probably are, considering the smoke everywhere), so Lance smiles back at his partner while walking past him towards the plate. He drags one hand over Shiro’s lower back, right above where the elastic of his sweatpants rests, and deftly folds a pancake into a roll before bringing it to his mouth — he all but swallows it whole, cringing a bit at the bitter aftertaste. 

Yup, definitely burnt.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Shiro’s words mix with his fond laughter at the expression on Lance’s face, “Want to help with breakfast?”

“You shouldn’t phrase that as a question when you clearly need my help,” his eyes sparkle in a way that makes warmth seep through Shiro’s body, “what would you ever do if I said no, huh?”

With ease, Lance shoves Shiro away from the stove, looking at the pan once before a soft sigh escapes through his thin lips. He not too delicately throws it in the (luckily) empty sink, ignoring the other’s weak protests.

“Pass me the other pan we have,” he says while also taking from Shiro’s hand the spatula and stirring the pancake mix to check the texture and density of it, “I think the main problem was that you burnt the oil. Honestly, Shiro, _who_ taught you?”

The answer falls from Shiro’s lips quicker than what he probably would’ve liked: “The internet—”

There’s a beat of silence between them, the two staring at each other with their eyes open wide. Lance is busy inefficiently trying to hold back his laughter as Shiro’s mouth hangs open in embarrassment, the radio softly playing an array of songs both old and new in the background.

To the sound of a well known singer crooning ‘ _ When you dance down the street with a cloud at your feet _ ’ combined with the distinctive stringed instruments, many glorious things happen: Lance’s infectious laughter falls from his lips like pearls do when the thin string holding them together breaks, Shiro’s cheeks gain a red tint that reaches all the way back to his ears, and the sunlight filters through the closest window to frame Lance in a warm, mesmerizing glow.

‘ _ You’re in love _ ’ the singer pronounces with a wistful voice, and Shiro thinks that yes, _oh yes,_ he definitely, irrevocably and undeniably is.

His heart is still bursting at the seams with sheer adoration even as Lance calms down, the skin of his cheekbones a darker color, flushed because of his mirth. 

They go through the motions of preparing more pancakes together, Shiro handing his beloved the unused cooking pan and then grabbing a different spatula so he can at least help by pouring portions of the mix into it under Lance’s guidance. With their joint effort, they manage to cook a small tower of the delicious goodness without any kind of burning mishap… something that, on his own, Shiro would’ve never accomplished.

As the music turns more upbeat, Lance starts to hum, eyes absentmindedly following the movements of his own hands while he flips yet another pancake, spatula stilling mid-air, his thoughts driving him into something he hadn’t really considered too much until that moment.

“You know,” he licks his lips, the beginning of a frown gathering his delicate eyebrows closer, “I was thinking—”

“Strange of you to think at all,” Shiro says in a passing comment, the corners of his mouth relaxing into an easy grin as he nudges his partner on the side to keep talking.

“—ugh, shut up, I said,” blue eyes flicker towards where the other is standing before they return to the pan, lifting a fully-done pancake to then place it on top of the growing pile, “I was thinking that we should, you know, our DJ said we could give her a list with our favorite songs or, or the ones we’d like to have her play during the party…”

Making a small sound at the back of his throat, Shiro nods once even though Lance isn’t looking at him, “Oh yeah, that. I, uh, kind of pushed it to the back of my mind, what with the whole suit shopping and, yeah. Do you have any ideas?”

The stirring sound of pancake batter coming into contact with the hot surface of the pan momentarily drowns out the radio. Lance hums again, spatula twirling in the air, and he ignores the drops of the mix falling everywhere as he considers Shiro’s question.

“Not really,” he admits at last while another pancake makes it safely onto the plate, “But we also need to think of a, a song for our first dance, right?”

Suspiciously, Shiro’s hand twitches at that. “Oh,” he clears his throat then, looking slightly ashamed, “yeah, I, heh, I forgot about that. Somehow.”

Lance narrows his eyes, Shiro’s tone of voice saying perhaps a bit more than what the other originally intended to say. “What,” he starts, stopping midway through flipping a pancake and waving the spatula in a mockery of a menacing action, “are you trying to get away from dancing with me in front of others,  _ cariño _ ?”

“Wha-I’d never!,” Shiro laughs then, pinching Lance’s side and pointing with his chin at the pancake that now was ruined, “What makes you think that?”

“Hmm, you better,” he chides jokingly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his grin, “Or else I just might have to file for divorce!”

Shiro shakes his head fondly, though he manages to maintain a deadpan expression as he says: “We have to get married before that, you know? And I’m sure I’ll be able to find a way to convince you to not take away all my…,” looking around then, clearly trying to find something to prove his point, he ends up pointing at his own hoodie that Lance is wearing, “...belongings.”

“Belongings,” Lance snorts, hip cocking to the side as he rests his weight on one leg, stretching out the other while he tosses onto the plate the folded pancake, preparing a new one, “Sure, baby. You better start thinking of something that doesn’t include cooking.” This time he flips the delicacy by throwing it into the air, easily catching it with the pan, “Gods, you’re hopeless.”

“You love me,” Shiro smiles proudly, smooching Lance’s cheek, “and I love you.”

Lance smiles too, unable to stop himself. “You’re starting to sound too sure of yourself for someone who has cold feet when it comes to dancing with their lovely soon-to-be-husband in front of a crowd, you know…”

“Hey!,” his voice rises in pitch as he protests, puffing out his cheeks a little, “I don’t have cold feet! I just—I have two left feet, and you know that.”

“We can… I mean, we’ll definitely practice before, you know, the big moment—”

“I know, I know! I, well…,” with a small sigh, Shiro lifts his prosthetic hand to rub at the back of his neck, lost in thought for just a moment before he says: “What do you think of dancing to ‘Sway’? You know, by Dean Martin…”

“That song?,” Lance asks, surprised, “Isn’t it, like, way too much for your two left feet?”

“You just said we’d practice! I’m sure I can do it!”

“Yeah but—,” suppressing a small shiver, he nods, forgetting the pan with more pancake mix atop the stove as he turns to fully face Shiro, holding his hands out in a dancing position, “Ok, show me.”

“I—what?”

“Show me how you’d do it!”

A handful of seconds go by spent looking at each other. Shiro’s shoulders grow tense—it’s a minute detail that doesn’t go unnoticed by Lance, though he stays in the same position. Then, Shiro relaxes with a sigh and lets a small smile play on his lips as he steps closer to his partner, easily slipping an arm around his partner’s waist, the other coming up to hold Lance’s hand in his own.

Their bodies align naturally, and Shiro’s smile turns wider as he gazes into Lance’s effervescent blue eyes. And truly, it’s much too easy for the two of them to get lost in each other when they are like this. Except that he takes a step forwards just when Lance does, and they not only step on each other but Lance also bumps into Shiro’s chest.

Laughter surrounds them, easily overpowering the radio and the hissing sound of the pancake batter burning on the stove.

“I hope—,” Lance speaks through his giggling, squeezing Shiro’s hand once, “I hope this doesn’t happen during the actual first dance—”

“It won’t,” Shiro swears without any evidence to prove it, “though maybe we should dance to something slower…”

“What about…,” he clears his throat once, throwing his head backwards and to the side as he belts out in a croaky voice, “ _ Neeeeear… Faaar! Whereeeeeeev— _ ”

“No,” Shiro quickly shuts Lance up with a kiss, “Never. That song’s… awful.”

“Aw, come on!,” with a whine, Lance leans in for another kiss, a cheshire-like grin curling his lips, “Ok, how about:  _ I’ll tell you what I want what I reallyreallywant! So tell m— _ ”

“Gods,” he can’t stop the incredulous laughter that erupts from his mouth, “Lance, you know we  _ can’t  _ dance to that! Besides, you know that a much better song is—”

“—no, stop—”

“ _ Woooouldn’t it be nice if we were oldeeer! Then we wouldn’t hav _ —Ah!,” he yelps, voice rising in pitch, when he’s stepped on with more force than needed, “That hurt!”

Lance grins gleefully, stars dancing in his eyes. 

They are still in the same position, like they’re readying themselves for a waltz. Shiro’s sight focuses on Lance’s lips again, lips he could kiss forever and never get enough, and he smiles softly when he feels Lance moving closer, their chests pressing together. Tightening his arm around his partner’s waist, Shiro then leans down, eyes closing, getting ready for a—

A cloud of dark smoke rises from the pan and quickly takes over their senses. Lance curses, pulling away from the other as he turns to face the stove: there are flames coming from the inside of the pan, and now that they are actually paying attention they notice that the kitchen is flooded in smoke.

“Geeze!,” with a pinched voice, Lance rushes to grab the first lid he can find, quickly putting it over the pan and turning off the stove, “Holy cow, Shiro! We—Did we just—”

“Leave the burner on?,” grabbing onto Lance’s hands before pulling him closer, Shiro kisses the top of his head, “Yeah… You ok, baby?”

Shivering a little, Lance tucks his face in the warm crook between Shiro’s neck and shoulder, “Mhm. Just. Startled. Can’t believe I forgot…”

Holding onto each other, they take a moment to breathe and calm down, letting the music from the radio soothe their nerves. It’s when the known sound of drums and that soft piano plays, followed by the famous words ‘ _ Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars... _ ’, that they know: this, this is their song.

“Hey, Lance?,” Shiro hums, foot tapping along to the rhythm.

“Yes, Shiro?,” Lance breathes, feeling bubbly and loved.

“Will you fly to the moon with me?”

“You don’t even have to ask.”

****

**Author's Note:**

> The songs that are mentioned, in order:  
1) That's Amore, by Dean Martin  
2) Sway, by Dean Martin  
3) My Heart Will Go On, by Celine Dion  
4) Wannabe, by the Spice Girls  
5) Wouldn't it be nice, by the Beach Boys  
6) Fly Me to the Moon, by Frank Sinatra
> 
> All well known songs :-D
> 
> P.S.: please never leave the stove on & don't be like these idiots in love while cooking, k, bye


End file.
